Face Value
by Ravenclaw42
Summary: Directly after the end of X2. Nightcrawler has to find his place among the X-Men, where his otherworldly appearance tends to estrange even fellow mutants. The image inducer is also introduced in latter chapters.
1. Thoughts and Morals

A/N: Not my first X-Men fic, but definitely my first readable one. I hate when movies end right before the part I really want to see -- so, as usual, I decided I'd take matters into my own hands. *rolls eyes* This is how I have several dozen fic beginnings on my computer and almost no finished pieces. Well, this one's almost done, I'm just posting it in fairly small segments.  
  
The vast majority of the first person dialogue is in this chapter. In fact, I may never use first person again. Not in this story, anyway.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men -- comics, movies, cartoons, or otherwise -- and if you sue me, you'll get a great whopping 30 bucks, a collection of ticket stubs, and possibly a sword. So don't bother.  
  
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Face Value  
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I. Thoughts and Morals  
  
Xavier's School -- a mansion. I don't know what I had expected, but it wasn't a mansion. And this room... Mutant children who live here must be confused sometimes by the mixed messages adults give them -- they live so comfortably in the luxury of this house, cared for by the good Professor, who tells them to be tolerant and accepting; yet they fear setting foot outside the school, they fear humans... some fear their own families.  
  
I cannot live in this world. How had I thought I could? It was so simple in the circus -- I could make people fear me, though I would not hurt them, and when they had all gasped and cowered, I would do something funny and they would laugh, and all wounds would be healed. They paid to be entertained, and I could entertain them easily -- and they loved me for it. Beyond that, hiding was no big deal. I didn't go out in the daytime, no one saw me, everyone was happy. I was lonely, perhaps, but I had a few friends -- other oddities like myself, not mutated, but certainly strange enough besides. One of them was a tattoo artist, and, being on friendly terms with me, he gladly carved the sacred symbols on my right upper arm where I could not reach.  
  
The circus was simple, understanding. Here it's so different -- people are frightened of me, and it's _real_ fear, the kind of fear that is the fear of spiders or drowning or abandonment... not the kind of fear that I can make all better by simply falling off a rafter or pretending to get tangled up with my tail.  
  
Xavier's mansion. The school for gifted youngsters. I don't believe I've ever heard of a more ironic euphemism in my life, except perhaps when my fellow circus performers would pass me off to normal people by saying I had a skin condition. Big laugh.  
  
I was perched on the curtain rail, pondering the room, letting myself think of things I hadn't dared think about in years. My tail whipped back and forth like a restless cat's; I looped it around the rail beside me to still it. I let go of the rosary I had been lightly fingering and held my hand out in front of me, staring with unseeing eyes.  
  
Most mutants look normal on the outside. Coming to this school, this strangely homelike place, only served as a reminder of that fact. The children walk together, laugh at jokes, run in the halls against the rules, lessen their fear through companionship. Despite the occasional sights of their active powers -- Kitty Pride running through walls to class, Bobby Drake frosting over briefly to cool off after playing basketball -- the children, and even most of the adults, look perfectly normal.  
  
But when I walked into the front hall, into the huge room full of scared children recently returned from hiding in the woods, I was not greeted with warmth. I cannot blame any of them, for had I been one of them, and seen someone like myself walking into a house I had until recently called I would have greeted me the same way. Dozens of young pairs of eyes stared at me, unbelieving, apprehensive, accusing, frightened. I know they were scared. I know they had just been attacked, driven out of their school, some even shot with tranquilizers. But despite that, their estranged, distant glances pained me in a way I could not describe. I had long known that humans would not accept me, and I pitied them for their narrow-mindedness; but would my fellow mutants not accept me, either?  
  
My outward appearance is a hardship I must bear without complaint, lest I go mad. Of all the mutants I have met in the last few weeks (and I've met more than I could have imagined even existed), the only ones who have not given me any strange sideways looks or been hesitant in approaching me were Magneto, the Professor, and Mystique.  
  
I am a freak among freaks; an enigma to those who don't know me, an ironic oxymoron to those who do. Devout demon. How strange, eh. Normal people come to me with a strong idea of what I must be like, based solely on what they have seen. Then, when I open my mouth and speak in a normal, human voice with a strong German accent, in near-perfect English (a second language to me), they are obviously taken aback -- whether they had expected a demon-like voice, guttural and otherworldly, or an animal with no language at all, I do not like to speculate. It is difficult, I think, for people to see the normal person under the blue skin, the intelligence and feeling behind the yellow eyes.  
  
I closed my eyes, hiding at least one aspect of my strangeness, and tried to clear my mind of any more such thoughts. Picking up the dangling rosary, I began to recite it under my breath, believing longingly, as I always did, in God's grace and unwavering acceptance of all His children -- be they white or black, Jewish or Arab, gay or straight... mutant or human. It always calmed me; and besides, it would keep me occupied for quite a long time.  
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A/N: I left a few bits of iffy grammar in here on purpose -- I mean, English is a second language to Kurt, it can't be expected to be perfect. I also didn't use as many contractions as I usually do, for the same reason. So, if you're going to flame anything, please don't flame the grammar. It has an excuse.  
  
What do you think? Shall I continue, or simply beat my head in with a rock and spare you all the pain of reading this piece of junk? (Mom, if you're reading this, I'm *just kidding!* No beating of heads will occur anytime soon, trust me.) PLEASE REVIEW! (I *will* sic my hell-spawn, plastic-chewing, house-destroying cat after you if you don't review, so be warned...)


	2. Choices

A/N: o_O. Woah... reviews... LOTS of reviews... Damn! At least now I know how to get reviews, I have to threaten people with rabid animals! (And here I had been trying to be *nice* all these years... huh, phfft on that!) :) Thanks, all of you! ((((reviewers)))) *hands out cookies to all*  
And a few more specific replies...  
  
Zaron of the Red Moon: Yep, Mom gave me the writer gene; she writes a lot, too. :) She's sort of my part-time beta reader, but is mostly just there for moral support.  
  
SouthernersCanWrestle: I agree about Kurt's issues being slightly neglected in the movie -- of course, with so much plot and so many characters, I can understand why they needed to trim his role down to the bare minimum. I read a review of X2 somewhere (I don't remember where, unfortunately) that said something along the lines of, Nightcrawler's religious rantings got too much screen time, while Pyro's slip into the dark side' speech was skimped out on. This review, wherever it was, ticked me off so bad that I had to go and write some Kurt fanfic to get it out of my system. :) The blue elf *always* deserves more screen time. (And... since when did Pyro even *have* a speech? He seemed pretty monosyllabic to me. Besides the cool pyrotechnics, he was a pretty uninteresting character. To me, that is. No offense to the Pyro fans out there.)  
  
Shian: You know, I realized why my cat is so evil -- he has a name longer than his own body, and it probably swelled his little ego as a kitten. Our monstrosity's name happens to be King Harvey Aurelius Alexander Jormungard. A name like that could turn anyone to a life of crime. ;p As for Jean and Storm -- the way I saw it, when Jean was tending the bullet graze on Kurt's arm, she seemed to be kind of marveling at his weird appearance; and Ororo hesitated slightly when approaching him in the jet. Might have been my imagination, but that's what I saw. The three people listed in the story itself were the only three people whom I distinctly noticed *did not care one whit* when they saw Kurt. They didn't even seem interested. Magneto's first in command is blue, after all; and Prof. X wouldn't care, he's very accepting of everyone, mutant and human alike, and besides, he can see the insides of people's minds, which never look terribly different, despite any outward appearances. And Mystique -- hey, she's already blue. This is *so* old hat to her. She'd probably be bored senseless by Kurt-angst.  
  
Finally, on a more general topic -- I know precisely three words of German (ich, ach, and another that must be censored for the sake of any German-speaking minors in the audience, all of which I learned from watching Run, Lola, Run), so I have basically put my entire German-speaking reputation (such as it is) in the hands of Babel Fish, AltaVista's translator service. If Babel Fish messed up and put something totally bizarre in the story, then... it's not my fault! (It's funny to use BF, actually. Say I type in and do an English-to-German translation, and I get So I put in and go from G-to-E, and I get I do E-to-G on and I get bitten Sie. Now, I could keep going... but how am I supposed to know what word to use, anyway?)  
  
I'll just shut up now and get on to the story...  
  
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II. Choices  
  
Ororo Munroe, also known as Storm, rapped lightly on Kurt Wagner's door. There was a muffled exclamation in German from the other side, followed by a loud thump. Ororo tested the door: it was unlocked, but she didn't open it.  
  
Kurt? Are you all right? she asked through the solid wood.  
  
Nichts, ich habe nur gerade... The door opened a fraction, and she found herself looking right into Kurt's almost-glowing yellow eyes. He looked down quickly. I am sorry, I forget myself. I slipped from the rail... never mind.  
  
Storm smiled slightly at his abashed look. Are you hurt?  
  
I think I will survive. He gave her one of his small, impish, fanged grins that had always scared the living daylights out of so many circus-goers. Come in, please...  
  
Oh, actually, the Professor wants to see you.  
  
Ach. Just a moment. He dodged out of sight for no more than three seconds, and when he opened the door and stepped into the hall, she saw that he had donned his dark overcoat.  
  
We'll only be inside the mansion... she commented, trying to sound offhand.  
  
It is more comfortable, but I thank you.  
  
  
  
They talked little walking down the long halls. Ororo found herself captivated, as she almost always was, by the way Kurt moved, all his unconscious mannerisms. He never stood up straight -- his most comfortable position was a low crouch, and even now, walking in a perfectly straight line, he slumped his shoulders, slouched forward, and bent his knees a little farther than was necessary. He also had a tendency to rub the back of his neck when he was nervous, which he did now. She wondered if he had ever done that before the experiments conducted on him by Stryker, which had left a small round scar at the base of his neck. Her brow furrowed at the thought of Stryker and his kind... those sorts of people, more than anything else, were the reason she was so deeply angry at the human race. How Kurt could have been mistreated so badly and still respect humans, Ororo simply could not understand.  
  
She sighed slightly and thought back to the Professor's request instead. He'd asked her to bring Kurt to him -- her specifically, because she had made a more immediate connection with him than any of the others -- in order to take some measurements. Storm wasn't exactly sure what he'd meant, but Professor X almost never asked anything of his students without an explanation unless he had a very good reason.  
  
After a few minutes they came to the Professor's office door. Ororo smiled at Kurt, who lifted a hand to his neck again and tried not to look anxious. She knocked quietly, in case someone else was inside.  
  
Come in, came a voice from inside. As Storm opened the door she heard the familiar low hum of the Professor's wheelchair. He was just moving away from a bookshelf, having replaced one of the volumes. he said, smiling as usual, Ororo, Kurt. I know I didn't explain myself to either of you, and I apologize. Kurt, I may have some good news for you.  
  
He looked up quickly, blinking fast. I wouldn't ask anything of you, sir.  
  
I know you wouldn't, he replied. Please, have a seat, both of you. He maneuvered himself behind his desk, folded his hands on the oft-polished yet still worn surface, and continued.  
  
said the Professor, getting straight to business, I had a notion, Kurt, of something that it might be possible to create for you -- a projector of sorts. An image inducer, shall we call it. It may not be possible, so I beg of you not to get your hopes up about it. But if it could be built -- it would have to be small, something you could conceal -- then we could program it to project an image around your person, an image of a human. It could make you look normal,' or what is generally accepted as normal. The Professor looked carefully at Kurt, who had frozen stock-still and was gripping the arms of the chair tightly, and said, I only want you to think about it. If you would like me to attempt to build this... image inducer, then I will gladly try. I understand how hard your appearance must be for you sometimes -- hard to be accepted by anyone, even other mutants. It was only a thought.  
  
Ororo, herself intrigued at the news, glanced quickly at Kurt. He was sitting very still, staring unblinkingly at his feet. His breath was slow and shallow.  
  
Ororo ventured. The Professor raised a hand to silence her.  
  
Think about it, Kurt, he said gently, his chair humming as he pulled out from behind his desk. If you want me to try, come see me again. I don't mind being interrupted.  
  
Kurt nodded slowly, hesitantly, as if his mind was somewhere else completely. He felt Ororo's hand on his shoulder, so he stood up; when she said goodbye to the Professor, he muttered an absent Auf Wiedersehen and shook the Professor's offered hand, despite the fact that he was usually hesitant about shaking hands, since most people didn't want to touch his three-fingered, almost hoof-like appendages.  
  
Stepping out in the the hall with Ororo guiding him gently, he felt himself being led back to his room. Walking down the hall, Ororo couldn't help but think about what an enormous burden had just been dropped on Kurt's mind; he had probably never even thought about being anything but blue-skinned and hated for the rest of his life.  
  
she said, prying his tightly-gripping hand off her own, this is your room.  
  
he muttered, and opened the door without particularly looking at it.   
  
she said quickly, before she lost her nerve, you know the Professor only wants to help you. There's nothing... _wrong_ with the way you look. Just -- a little disconcerting. I'm sure the kids here wouldn't really mind at all, if they got to know you.  
  
He snapped out of his daze long enough to look at her clearly and muster a small, unfelt smile. Sie sind zu freundlich... sorry. I mean to say, your... your words are too kind, but ich danke... ah, I thank you for them. I'm sorry, I cannot think in two languages now. I need some time... bitte. Please.  
  
Ororo nodded quickly. Of course, I understand. But you know, you're welcome anywhere in the mansion, anytime. Come by my classroom when school's out one day, I'll introduce you to some of the kids... and I swear to you, they won't care one bit what you look like.  
  
Kurt shifted his weight from one foot to the other, repeated one last time, smiled again at Ororo, and waited for her to turn away before he closed the door.  
  
He teleported across the room in his agitation, _bamf_ing into existence next to the window. Fumbling open a latch built for a five-fingered hand, he threw open the shutters and glass panes. The open air felt better on his dark skin than the air in his room, which now seemed warm and stuffy; he sprang onto the windowsill and crouched low there, gripping the frame tightly with his opposable toes. He lashed his tail wildly, feeling no need to still its motion this time. Calm reflection all but forgotten, Kurt could do nothing more than put his head in his three-fingered hands and wait out the furious maelstrom of thoughts and emotions that his mind had become.  
  
To look human -- to be average, normal, accepted -- while in doing so defying his own real nature, which, though he was not proud of it, was still the basic essence of himself. But... to look like other people, even like the other mutants, with their white skin and five fingers and normal, shod feet... His father's hair had been brown, he knew, he remembered (such a faint, distant memory)... not this thick, coarse black that was almost like fur. But -- his tattoos -- surely no normal human would have such markings. But they were sacred to him, he cherished them -- he had inflicted them on himself, cutting and cauterizing delicately, knowing that he only had the one skin of his own to mar, that if he made a mistake on the first try, there would be no subsequent attempts. He couldn't hide those symbols as if they were things to be ashamed of, for they weren't; they weren't images to be covered up and ignored, like the fangs, the tail, the pointed ears.  
  
How could the Professor ask such a decision of him? Xavier was much too intelligent and insightful not to realize what an inner turmoil the question would cause Kurt. He had to have known it would be this hard before he even asked... after all, Kurt thought ruefully, he _was_ psychic.  
  
Gott, hilf mir, he whispered to himself, cradling his head in his arms and giving in to the utter confusion pervading his mind.  
  
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Xavier was just in the middle of reading Rahne Sinclair's physics paper when there was a very slight, almost inaudible knock on his office door. Sighing, he glanced,' as it were, at the caller behind the door -- and smiled. He had been expecting Kurt to come back, sooner or later.  
  
Come in, he called. He didn't call people in by name, even though he knew who they were before they opened the door; it tended to unnerve them.  
  
The shadowy man slipped inside Xavier's office without making the slightest sound. He seemed to be hiding behind his high-collared overcoat, and his posture was even more slouched than usual. He stood just inside the door, making no move to come any further. Xavier didn't have to be psychic to know that he was afraid of what he was about to ask.  
  
Xavier said amiably, greeting rather than questioning.  
  
Kurt took a deep breath, composing himself as well as he could. It would be a lie to say that I have never dreamed of looking like a normal human, he said without preamble, being careful not to revert to speaking in German, as he often did under stress. That this dream of mine could be made real is unsettling, to say the least. But I will not deny who I really am, and I know it would not be your way to ask me to do so. So, I come for more information before I make a decision.  
  
Xavier nodded understandingly, although Kurt was projecting his thoughts so strongly at the moment that he needn't have even spoken.  
  
How will this... image inducer work? Permanently?  
  
Oh no, it would be very simple to turn on and off. It could be programmed to project any image at all, of course, but would most likely have a default setting of your choosing.  
  
It would not interfere with my teleporting?  
  
I can't say that for certain yet, the Professor replied honestly. I won't be able to begin work on the device until I have more detailed data about your powers. A few scans, some measurements... and I will have to take some readings while you teleport. But beyond that, you need have no hand in the project.  
  
Kurt nodded and sighed slowly. He was silent for a long moment; but finally he said, I would be forever indebted to you, Professor, if you would attempt to create this thing for me. I can but ask...  
  
I'm perfectly glad to help you in any way I can, Kurt, Xavier said, smiling. I can't sit and grade physics papers all day, anyway.  
  
Kurt ventured an upward glance at the Professor, and found himself looking directly into light blue eyes. Instantly self-conscious of his own yellow ones, he quickly looked away. The movement was not lost on Xavier, who kept it stored away in his mind as another sign to watch out for.  
  
Well, then, said Xavier, gliding out from behind his desk. Follow me to the lower levels, if you will, and I'll take the measurements I need.  
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Translations (big thanks to starfish for sorting me out here):  
Nichts, ich habe nur gerade... = Nothing, I just...  
Auf Wiedersehen =   
Sie sind zu freundlich = Your words are kind  
Gott, hilf mir = God help me


	3. Faith Seeking Understanding

A/N: Again with the review overload! This is awesome, I love reviews! (Mom claims my head is swelling like a balloon and that all this praise is probably terrible for my ego, but what the heck.) ;p  
  
Before I get to the story again, PLEASE READ THIS NOTE. You may not care, but I'd like to get it out in the open. I have only read about 10 issues of the comics. They were in my Dad's comics collection, and we've moved since I read them, so I only got him to excavate them very recently and I haven't had a chance to read them all yet. Kurt was in all of those issues, but the image inducer was ony mentioned in a couple. At the moment, my entire knowledge of X-Men is limited to those 10 issues, approx. 2 seasons of X-Men: Evolution, the two movies, and whatever I can get my hands on at Mutatis Mutandis (an X-Men website I just found within the last 2 weeks that, thank god, has loads of useful & detailed information). The rest of it, I make up off the top of my head. I have always loved the _idea_ of Nightcrawler, though I may not have read much of him. I have taken elements from each of my few sources and combined them in whatever way fits to the story, and in the case of the story itself, I am _only_ trying to keep good continuity with the movies -- I'm not even _attempting_ to stay true to the continuity of the comics or cartoons (too many obssessive fans'd come after me with pitchforks and torches if I got the comic story-line wrong, I'm sure.). Therefore, whenever some of the other X-Men show up (Banshee, Sunspot, Shadowcat, or whoever), or any other characters I feel like including, they will probably not be in a proper timeline with the comics, and their personalies may vary wildly from whatever they're like in the comics. I will try my hardest to keep Kurt in-character with the way he's been portrayed in other media, but PLEASE do not flame me if he has any slight personality shifts. I'm being fairly lenient with most of the characters' personalities. The movies are my template; the other sources are only reference material.  
  
Again, some specific replies:  
  
Zoken: Unless this story spins wildly out of control, there will be no romances except for possible mentions of KNOWN romances in the movies, i.e. Rogue/Bobby & Scott/Jean. (No, Gambit will _not_ suddenly show up and steal Rogue away from Iceman, thanks very much.) I find the idea of pairing Kurt & Storm just because they might've looked twice at each other to be ridiculous. Nightcrawler needs a friend in this bizarre new place; Storm just happens to have been the only one to share more than two 5-second-long scenes with him in the movie. Hence, friendship.  
  
Zaron of the Red Moon: Yeah, I'll pobably use the watch idea instead of the funky little palm pilot-looking thingie from that one issue of the comics I read that showed it.  
  
arin: He did? Huh, that was a happy accident, then. Well, cool!  
  
sneeksie: Exactly -- hence why I wanted to write this story. The way Kurt treats his image inducer in Evolution reeeeally irks me.  
  
starfish: THANK YOU! I honestly have _no_ clue what I'm saying when I start putting German in here, which is why I'm trying to avoid it as much as humanly possible... I know Babel Fish does very literal words-only translations of things, so the grammar and aesthetics are complete mysteries to me. I've gone back and changed the phrases in the last chapter already. Thanks again!  
  
  
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III. Faith Seeking Understanding  
  
Kurt slept poorly the next two nights. He recited the entire rosary twice in a row, an act of desperation more than faith; he resisted boredom by teleporting to the ground from his window and exploring the grounds and a little way into the woods. He ate little, only going into the mansion's kitchen when all the children were in class or asleep. The self-imposed solitude almost bordered on paranoia by the end of the second day of avoiding all human -- or mutant, rather -- contact.  
  
It was nearing sunset, and the sky outside was fading to darker shades of orange. Kurt, moving silently down the hall from his room, had just paused and glanced out the window when a red-clad movement caught the corner of his eye. Without thinking, he instantly fell into a low crouch, whipped his tail around himself protectively, and teleported back to his room.  
  
Scott Summers jumped, startled, at the sudden implosion of air from further down the hall. He hadn't even noticed anyone there, but the sound (which could only be described as a sort of _bamf_) was too distinctive not to recognize. Frowning at the strange mutant's furtive actions, Scott shook his head and turned back to the stairs leading down into the lower levels.  
  
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Kurt had found himself back in the middle of his room, dangerously close to the bed. Shaken by his completely instinctive, uncontrollable reaction to a single moment of irrational panic, he stared at the alarmingly solid mattress in front of him. He could easily have teleported inside it -- and he wasn't at all sure what would have happened if he had. Did his mass displace the mass of the other object, or would the mere act of trying to place two things in the same place at the same time simply destroy both of them? It was better not to experiment.  
  
The edge of the mattress was four inches away from his face. It started to blur as he stared at it.  
  
After several minutes had passed and he'd regained a modicum of composure, Kurt slowly stood up and backed away from the bed. This strange behavior towards other people was making him nervous. It wasn't like him at all -- and it had happened so spontaneously; just after he'd come to the decision to ask for the image inducer...  
  
Every time he thought about it, the more the image inducer sounded like salvation. But he shook his head, knowing that it was only a dream, a nagging, poisonous dream he'd had for his entire life: to look human, to look normal. He couldn't let himself be consumed by his desire for acceptance. He was who he was, and outward appearance couldn't change that true self.  
  
But then again, he was nothing if not the product of his upbringing. The denial, the whispers, the strange looks... and throughout it all, his ongoing wish to please people, to ease pain. It pained him to realize that by never allowing anyone to see him in daylight in the circus, he had only been denying himself in order to make others' lives more comfortable -- exactly as he was doing now.  
  
There was a small decorative mirror over the oak dresser, there for aesthetics and nothing more. Kurt had paid it no mind until this moment; but now he chanced a look at himself, something he did very rarely. By instinct, he glanced away quickly as soon as he set eyes on his own reflection.  
_  
Stop doing that. Look at what you are, not what you want to be._  
  
Shaking his head, Kurt looked back into the mirror once more -- blue skin, lingering shadows, fangs, pointed ears, yellow eyes, strange tattoos -- his reflection stared back at him in all its mutated glory.  
  
He suddenly wished it would just _stop._ It was so tiring, all this hiding, all this persecution, discrimination, senseless hatred...  
  
But it wasn't the right way out. It was an easy way out, of course; painless, simple. The image inducer could make this path out of hardship possible, if he just kept it on all the time, never teleported again, and left this group of X-Men' behind him. But the simplicity was only on a surface level -- underneath the hologram, he would always be blue and fanged. To choose the path of complete self-denial would be to lose the only thing he had left, now that his life had been turned upside down -- his faith.  
  
Putting a hand to his neck absently, he couldn't help but remember Ororo's offer for him to visit her classroom. The prospect of facing people again was nervewracking, but the longer he thought about it, the more convinced he became that it needed to be done -- for the sake of his sanity, if nothing else.  
  
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As soon as he saw me, he teleported out of sight. Are you sure he isn't up to something, Professor?  
  
I know everything that goes on in this mansion, Scott. Kurt is harder on himself than he'll ever be on us.  
  
Scott sighed. Of course, the Professor had to be right -- he always was -- but the blue mutant was just too stealthy and evasive for comfort. As the designated leader of the X-Men, Scott had always felt obligated to take care of the kids at the mansion, and if anyone here, guest or not, posed a threat, his first thought was inevitably for the students more so than for anything else.  
  
Maybe I should go talk with him... Ororo offered, a little uncertainly.  
  
Give the guy some time, Storm, Logan said, defending Kurt's wish to be alone. I know where he's been, and I know he doesn't need to be nagged about it.  
  
That's what I'm talking about, Scott told Logan. He's been handled by the same people you were -- what if some of their influence is still lingering with him? Arguing with Logan was almost instinctive for Scott, and vice versa; Ororo sometimes found their territorial alpha male bickering to be nearly unbearable. She sighed as she recognized that particular disapproving tone in Scott's voice, as he continued -- And even if it isn't, what do we really know about him? There's no way to prove that he isn't dangerous.  
  
Logan took his feet off the table in front of him and stood up, glaring at Scott. You heard what the Prof said, One-eye. The kid's not gonna hurt anyone. What happened to St. Cyclops of the Unconditional Tolerance? Isn't that what your whole X-Man act is about?  
  
Stop, both of you, Professor Xavier said sharply. They shut up at once, though Scott's attempt to look contrite failed miserably, and Logan scowled more deeply.  
  
said the Professor. You were under the same mind-controlling agent as Kurt. You don't feel any lasting effects, do you?  
  
No, sir, but we don't know how long Wagner was held by Stryker, and his different physiology --  
  
-- has absolutely nothing to do with it, Xavier interrupted sternly. Scott, I thought I taught you better than this. Kurt's actions while under Stryker's control are nothing to condemn him for, and neither is his appearance. You yourself have a visible physical mutation -- think of how it feels to be forced to hide your eyes all the time, constantly living with the fear of hurting someone. Kurt is forced to hide his entire body.  
  
Scott glanced down, truly apologetic this time.  
  
The Professor then turned to Logan, noting the smug expression on his face. And you, Logan. The X-Men have _always_ been about unconditional tolerance -- it is not an act,' and it's certainly nothing to be made light of.  
  
The tone of the Professor's voice made Wolverine's self-possessed look fade back into a scowl. He crossed his arms stubbornly, but said nothing.  
  
As for talking to Kurt again, Ororo, Xavier went on, the sternness relaxing from his voice, it will be done, in time... but for now, he has his own demons to overcome, and he needs to do it by himself. I'm sure Kurt had learned not to give much thought to his looks until the incident with the President. He was chosen for the attack because of his demonic appearance; Stryker wanted to give mutant-kind a face that people could easily fear. Kurt realized this, on some unconscious level, and that realization has led him to question everything about himself, even his faith.  
  
Been probing his mind? Logan asked, unimpressed.  
  
Xavier sighed. Only as much as necessary. I had to be sure I wasn't introducing a hazard into the school.  
  
This time it was Scott's expression that was smug as he glanced at Logan. The shorter man narrowed his eyes threateningly.  
  
Ororo noticed the signs of another impending argument between the two, and decided she'd had enough. Oh, don't start, she said in an annoyed tone, making Scott and Logan both turn to look at her at once. She rose from her seat without giving either of them a second glance. If you'll excuse me, Professor, she said levelly.  
  
Of course, Ororo.  
  
Turning to leave, Ororo felt a brief pang about walking out in such a disagreeable manner; still, until Scott and Logan stopped their subtle battle for control, there wasn't much point in listening to either of them. Losing Jean only seemed to have fueled them to fight harder and more often...  
_  
Jean._ Ororo closed the door behind her and leaned against the wall of the corridor. Though it had been several days since Jean's death and most of the initial shock had worn off, the wound of her passing was still open and painful. No one mentioned her name much these days, though she was on everyone's mind. Thinking about Kurt helped Ororo avoid thoughts of her lost friend; with Scott and Logan, she suspected that the territorial battle served as much the same sort of distraction.  
  
Recovering herself, Ororo shook her head and moved off down the hall towards her classroom, where fourth period's papers were still waiting to be graded.  
  
-----------  
  
Dawn, and the sunlight burst bright across Kurt Wagner's bare back, showing up the deep, rich shade of his skin, which was usually so heavily shadowed that it looked almost black. He was sitting upright on his bed, having barely slept two hours during the night -- and that only in scattered twenty- and thirty-minute intervals. He glanced out the window as the sun broke free of the horizon and was nearly blinded by the light.  
  
He ran his hands across the raised symbols on his face and chest, feeling their meaning the way he had felt the pain of the incisions.  
  
Today, he told himself. It had to be today, or never.  
------------  
  
A/N: Again, giant hugs and thanks and chocolate to everyone who reviewed! (For those of you who aren't reviewing, the cat's getting restless... *Patented Evil Raised Eyebrow Look*) I've finally got the story completely mapped out, so if nothing goes awry, there _should_ be a total of exactly 6 chapters. Chapter 4 will hopefully be up in another few days, a week at the most. Read on, Macduff!  
  
_You are getting veeeery sleepy.... you are watching the little blue Go button.... you are clicking the little blue Go button... c'mon... you know you want to...there is no spoon..._


	4. Between Myself

A/N: I'm baaaack! Wow, I seriously thought this story was a goner until Mom made me watch X2 again last night. I wrote this entire chapter in the time between midnight and 5 a.m. Dontcha just love weekends? Anyway, I hope -- hope -- that the last two chapter will come out as easily as this one did. This is by far the longest chapter in this story.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
-----------------  
  
IV. Between Myself  
  
... couldn't catch an updraft, though. I think Sean deafened a few dogs when he came down low.  
  
Warren, you know better than that!  
  
He winced. he mumbled.  
  
Ororo sighed, though she was smiling inwardly. Any students with the ability to fly were always sent straight to her; for that reason, she, Warren Worthington and Sean Cassidy had developed a little miniature clique of airborne mutants. The traditional distance between teacher and students was hard to keep up when only three people in the whole school had a common gift, especially one like flying. No one else could possibly understand what it felt like -- and besides, they wouldn't be even marginally interested in deep discussions of weather patterns and wing care.  
  
At the moment, Warren was confessing to challenging Sean to an airborne race that had brought them dangerously close to a suburban neighborhood. Ororo didn't like to think about the students getting that far away from the school, but then again, it wasn't as if they were bound here.  
  
She sighed again, shook her head, and told Warren that as long no one was injured, everything would be fine. She hoped he heard the concern and disappointment in her voice; she didn't like to scold, but she'd do it if she had to.  
  
No need. Warren was a good kid, and he didn't miss much. Sean was a little harder to manage, but at least he followed orders when he could see sense or necessity in them.  
  
From her perch on her desk, Ororo surveyed her classroom, allowing herself a small grin as she did so. Her room was huge, with an arched cathedral-like ceiling, and plants grew in every spare inch of open space. The Professor never objected to her jungle classroom, and neither did the students; it was too beautiful a place to dislike. Ivy crept up the walls, ten-foot-tall bamboo plants looked almost like pillars where they stood in the corners, and African violets trailed over the sides of all the other plants' pots, splashing the ground level of the room with purple and white. Ororo loved anything that grew, and could always create the perfect microclimate for even the most out-of-place plants.  
  
Storm turned her gaze away from the plants and to the students. Though it was nearly 5 o'clock and all classes were out for the day, a lot of the kids liked to come do their homework in Ororo's classroom. It was open enough that it felt almost like a study hall or a library: It was one of those sorts of rooms where, no matter how many people were already in it, a person could find an isolated spot almost immediately. It was great for those kids who couldn't read in the ambient noise of a common room, the chatter of a dorm, or the shouts of the courtyard. The formal garden was another good, quiet place; unfortunately, though, boxwoods and roses generally don't serve well as writing desks.  
  
Jubilation Lee was reading a thick book and taking occasional notes -- The Once and Future King, if Ororo wasn't mistaken. It was the Professor's latest reading assignment, so the library copies of the book had been spread thin recently. Bobby Drake was in the farthest corner of the room, wearing headphones and sculpting a six-inch-tall bird out of ice. He accidentally chipped off one wingtip, and though it would have been simple enough for him to fix, he instead chose to grimace and curse, breaking the entire thing down into shavings. He sat despondently, chin on his folded arms, watching the pile of ice chips slowly melting onto the tabletop.  
  
A sudden, light knock on the door startled Ororo. Quite a few of the kids looked up as well, curious -- people didn't usually knock on Storm's door, they just walked in. It was a very public classroom as classrooms went.  
  
Ororo was just swinging her legs off the desk and opening her mouth to call out _It's open_ when Kitty Pryde, who was doing her physics work at a table just to one side of the door, dodged outside to see who the caller was. As usual, she ignored the door handle entirely and phased right through the wall. Ororo rolled her eyes.  
  
There was a muffled yelp and apology from the other side of the door, followed by an exchange no one could quite make out. Almost everyone was watching the door half-interestedly now, except for Bobby, who hadn't heard anything through his headphones. Ororo walked to the door in the few seconds' quiet, and had just reached out a hand for the knob when the door opened of its own accord.  
  
Kitty blinked at Ororo, opening her mouth wordlessly. she said eloquently.  
  
Ororo ignored Kitty and smiled at the person behind her. Hey, Kurt, she said.  
  
He was looking more jittery than she'd ever seen him. Kitty's sudden appearance probably hadn't helped his nerves.  
  
This is a bad time? he asked, raising a hand to his neck.  
  
Of course not, Ororo replied. Come on in. She held the door open for both of them, but put a hand on Kitty's shoulder when she took a step forward. Kitty, will you _please_ stop running through things without looking?  
  
Sorry, Storm, said Kitty unapologetically. Um... who's... she added in a lower voice. Ororo brushed her tone aside.  
  
Kurt, this is Kitty Pryde, she said by way of introduction. Kitty, Kurt Wagner. Kitty gave Kurt an uncertain smile.  
  
An instant murmur arose when Kurt walked into the room. Jubilee blinked, startled, and sparks fizzed and popped around her fingers, burning little scorch marks onto her book's spine.  
  
In a moment of pure inspiration, Ororo nudged Kurt and said, Hey, there's someone you ought to meet. He gave a her a questioning look, but she just smiled and led him to the window where Warren was staring out at the courtyard as if trying to spot something. Kurt's eyes widened slightly when he saw the boy's back.  
  
Ororo tapped Warren on the shoulder. Wh -- oh, hi... um, said Warren, startled, looking quickly between Storm and Kurt.  
  
Warren, I'd like you to meet Kurt Wagner. You know, I told you and Sean about Alkali Lake... Kurt saved Rogue's life.  
  
Warren blinked, staring at Kurt. Yeah, I know... I'm sorry, you look familiar.  
  
Do I?  
  
Something clicked in Warren's memory. You're the assassin! There was a sketch in the papers...  
  
Kurt sighed. Was this how he was going to be recognized from now on? It was not intentional, he said carefully. I was being controlled.  
  
Yeah, Professor Xavier mentioned that, Warren replied immediately, unfazed.  
  
Kurt was somewhat taken aback. Herr Professor has spoken of me?  
  
said Warren. He told us most of what went on after the soldiers raided the mansion.  
  
  
  
said Warren, carefully leaning back on the windowsill, ...don't mean to pry, but why haven't we seen you before now?  
  
Kurt looked down. It is... a little complicated.  
  
If you think anyone here holds a grudge about that attack on the President, we don't, Warren said quickly. I mean, you didn't start this war, Stryker did. And since the President's speech, most humans know it wasn't your fault, too. You watched the speech, didn't you?  
  
Kurt's original apprehension and misconceptions of the rest of mutant-kind were being constantly challenged by this angelic teen's banter. There was a split-second pause before Kurt gathered his wits to reply, Ja -- well, most of it.  
  
Yeah. Jones taped it. Warren shifted awkwardly and glanced at Ororo, who gave him a small smile and crossed her arms, as if to say _Work this one out yourself.'_ His eyes flickered over Kurt's tail and ears before he forced them back to the older man's face. So. Um. ...Nice tail.  
  
I could say the same, Kurt replied. You can fly, then, I assume?  
  
Warren shrugged. I'm not the only airborne mutant. It's nothing special. I mean, I would hate for my mutation to be totally unique -- there wouldn't be anyone I could relate to. That would suck.  
  
Kurt glanced down, feeling the truth of that statement.  
  
Warren realized his mistake almost immediately. Um -- sorry, I didn't mean it that way...  
  
No offense taken, Kurt said softly.  
  
  
  
Warren shifted again and screwed his face up slightly, looking like he was trying to concentrate on keeping his balance on unsteady ground. Both of them were at a loss, searching for something to say; but Ororo had walked back to her desk quite casually, as if nothing had happened, and left the two to fend for themselves. The other people scattered throughout the room were trying to look busy with their work, but a lot of half-hidden sideways glances, upside-down books, and unmoving pencils were dead giveaways of their interest in the visitor.  
  
A thought suddenly dawned on Warren. he said. So, the Professor said you were in the circus?  
  
Kurt grinned despite himself, and Warren was extremely careful not to show any reaction at the sight of his fangs. he replied. Since childhood.  
  
So, what did you do, exactly....? Warren threaded his way around the word sideshow,' certain that it wouldn't be taken well.  
  
Kurt's smile widened, and Warren decided that the expression suited him, despite the fangs. I was an acrobat, a trapeze artist. It is much like flying... so perhaps we aren't so different, ja?  
  
As much as his appearance spoke otherwise, Warren couldn't help but begin to like this soft-voiced demon. He seemed honest enough, at least. he said aloud. I mean, you can't be completely alone in everything. I'm the only mutant with wings but others can still fly, right? He smiled, his uncertainly fading a little.  
  
What... what is it like? Kurt asked, trying to stay on equal ground with Warren.  
  
Warren shrugged, ruffling his feathers. People ask me that a lot, you know... but I can't really say. I don't really remember what it felt like before the wings grew in, so I can't make a comparison.  
  
You weren't born with them?  
  
Nah. Well, sort of, maybe, said Warren, absently plucking out a loose feather and twirling it between his fingers. I had these strange little bone protrusions on my shoulderblades from birth, but the doctors always said it was just an anomaly... like a vestigial tail. When I was about six or seven, the spurs started to grow. Nobody could figure out what to do about it -- I had doctors completely bewildered. Muscles that didn't exist started growing around the bone spurs, and they just kept on growing outwards, until they stuck six inches out of my back and the people who analyzed my X-rays finally realized they were jointed, and not just plain knobs of bone. By the time I was nine, I had full-fledged wings.  
  
Kurt was a little awed at hearing another mutant's story. His mind stuttered for a second before giving him anything useful to say. He made a casual gesture and replied, The only thing late in coming about me was my power. I was this color from birth, or so I'm told.  
  
Um. So, you have a power? I mean, I thought your mutation was just physical.  
  
Nein. I teleport.  
  
That really piqued Warren's interest -- he'd never heard of anyone with such a power before, although he'd thought it must exist somewhere.  
  
Kurt fidgeted, and finally asked the question he'd been thinking for the last minute. I wondered... are you often... do people ever mistake you for an angel?  
  
Warren laughed aloud at that. he said after a moment, but -- always. My codename here is Angel. He gestured vaguely at the building around them. My parents thought I really was one for a long time. Professor X explained everything, though. I think Mom was a little disappointed, really. That I was just a mutant. He paused.   
  
Kurt shook his head dismissively. No reason.  
  
Warren pursued the subject anyway. So, people think you're a demon a lot, then?  
  
Kurt nodded unhappily, and said, slightly longingly, It must be nice, that if people mistake you for something else, it is always something inherently good.  
  
said Warren, frowning a little, it's not. The sorts who jump to conclusions like that never want to know me -- they want me to take their messages to God, or some crud like that. It's just the same as with regular teen life -- as in, if you've got good looks, everyone assumes you have no brains, but if you've got acne and glasses, everyone assumes you're a tactless computer nerd -- only to a higher degree. Mutations are just resetting the old stereotypes. Now, people assume that an ugly mutation makes a bad mutant, where a normal-looking mutant is more likely to be good. Actually, my wings scare more people than they make worship me. It's annoying either way.  
  
Kurt felt something brittle snap inside him as Warren spoke. To hear the truth, so blunt and so naive, coming from the mouth of an angel -- it was too much. No... not an angel. A fellow mutant -- maybe even a friend, if given time. Maybe Warren knew how deeply his words touched Kurt and maybe he didn't, but either way, Kurt could feel the shell he'd created breaking down like a burned paper mask flaking away into ash -- and he could feel something else, too, something new burning up from beneath; the fire that had burned the old mask away.  
  
Laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep in his gut, and for once he didn't try to stop it. he gasped between convulsions that were almost more sobs than laughs. I have not heard someone speak so plainly in a long while.  
  
Warren grinned appreciatively and joined in with a little cheerful laughter of his own. It seemed to be infectious -- a few of the kids who had been watching them sidelong were grinning now, and even Storm looked pleased at the results of her matchmaking skills.  
  
Finally Kurt reigned in his wayward emotions and choked back the mirth that still wanted to escape. He didn't think he'd ever felt so free in his life, and he wondered briefly how on earth he'd ever managed to feel unwelcome in this place.  
  
Kurt said again, more seriously this time. I must admit that I had been feeling... lost. Speaking about these things helps, ja. He grinned that impish grin that used to send so many people running for cover.  
  
Warren had gotten used to the fangs by now -- he didn't even flinch. He knew Kurt's mind better than the teleporter thought he did -- Warren had been there, after all; been through the misgivings and the doubt and the mistaken identities, the whole comedy-of-errors spheil. He _knew_ why this talk was so strange and so freeing for Kurt, because he'd had the exact same conversation with Storm... the very first time he'd ever talked to another mutant about flight.  
  
I understand, was all Warren said out loud -- his expression said the rest. The last of Kurt's apprehension vanished like snowflakes in flame.  
  
Kurt repeated softly, almost to himself.  
  
Warren gestured vaguely with one hand, as if to say, _That's done now, don't worry about it, can we start over?_ Kurt smiled his assent. Enough about me, then, Warren said out loud, leaning forward from the windowsill. I want to hear more about your power. I've always thought teleportation would be way more handy than flight, huh? He laughed.  
  
Kurt shrugged, a little flattered despite himself. It's nothing, really. It makes other people feel ill when I take them with me. And no one likes the smell.  
  
Can I see? Warren asked anyway, curiosity overcoming propriety.  
  
Kurt flashed that impish grin -- that circus grin, fanged and shadowed but still unmistakably clownish -- and vanished in the blink of an eye. Tendrils of sulfurous blue smoke drifted idly in his wake. The implosion of air sounded like a sharp, loud clap in the murmuring noise of the study hall.  
  
All pretense of study was instantly forgotten -- everyone dropped what they were doing and stared agape at the place where Kurt had been. Amazed whispers quickly turned into low-level chatter, every pair of eyes searching for the demon-mutant and none seeming to be able to find him. Storm watched this unfolding with mild concern -- but her worry quickly vanished when she saw what Kurt was doing.  
  
The teleporter called out something mocking in guttural German that seemed to echo around the room. Storm and Warren instantly knew where he was from the location of his voice, high in the ivy-draped rafters of the room, but the younger kids didn't get it -- they thought he was anywhere and everywhere. Eyes widened in stunned fear, and a few kids turned to Ororo as if imploring her for help, should the blue man turn out to be bad. But she just smiled at them and put a finger to her lips as if sharing a great secret, so they relaxed a little and listened to Kurt's harsh voice instead.  
  
Another clap of displaced air sounded from the general area of the roof, and there was a brief second of total silence as the murmurs stopped and the adults held their breath.  
  
Then, an explosion of motion -- blue whirls and blurs danced through the room, mixing the scent of sulfur with the wild jasmine that bloomed in the corners. Kids' ears were tweaked, hair mussed, shoelaces untied, all before anyone had a chance to blink. Some shrieked, but it turned into laughter within seconds as unnerving taps on the back became deft tickles to the sides -- Kurt was toying with them like a stage magician, and most of them knew it.  
  
What was more, they knew that it was great.  
  
Then the blue blur left their midst and returned to the ceiling. The smoke cleared and Kurt hung there upside down, tail wrapped around the center rafter, framed with hanging vines and looking around with devilish feigned innocence. He called out something that sounded like a question in German -- as if on cue, kids started laughing and applauding. Apparently there was no language barrier in the theater.  
  
Warren laughed, but he didn't join in the clapping until Kurt did something he hadn't expected -- no one had expected. No one could predict the way Kurt moved, because no one else had a prehensile tail, and they couldn't think around the tactical corner presented by the idea of having a fifth limb just as useful as any arm or leg.  
  
He started _performing_.  
  
Kurt, high above his audience, was feeling drowsy and exhilarated at the same time -- drunk on the act. He hadn't meant to do more than a few acrobatic tricks, but the attention of so many children had simply _begged_ for a joke or two, and now -- now he was in center stage. Now he had to deliver a show, or else what was the point of gaining himself an audience in the first place?  
  
So he started his old routine, a little rusty from underuse and a little hindered by the different layout of Storm's classroom from a big top or a theater building, but magnificent all the same. He even made do without a trapeze, using the toughest strands of ivy to support his weight instead. He regained the rhythm of it with barely a thought, moving so fast that he was gone from a place as soon as a onlooker glanced there; he flexed his inhuman fingers and prehensile toes, and for the first time in weeks, he remembered exactly why he loved this body.  
  
It _was_ like flying, really.  
  
After about ten minutes, Kurt ended the show with a fall from the highest rafter, making all the children gasp and step forward in fear -- it looked like he had lost his balance and toppled over, but that was the idea. Timing his fall perfectly, Kurt twisted in midair and did a triple somersault before he hit the floor, absorbing the shock by falling into a low crouch and balancing himself with a tightly coiled tail.  
  
Instant cheering broke out -- Kurt stood up, slightly out of breath, and bowed deeply to his audience.  
  
Ororo and Warren smiled at him over the heads of the children who were now crowding around to talk to him; Kurt smiled back, laughing as he realized that tears had been streaking down his cheeks for the entire performance. He wiped them away and crouched down to speak face-to-face with the children.  
  
The paper mask was gone, and the vulnerability had all been in his imagination. He realized that now. And now, being hugged by a laughing young mutant girl with rainbow streaks in her hair, the most repulsive thing he could imagine would be to lose his natural form to the forced illusion of a human body.  
  
------  
  
Several days later, evening found Ororo wandering the halls of the mansion with no real destination in mind. Bobby wasn't doing well. The loss of John had hit him hard, and it was only getting worse. Not to mention the fact that Jean's absence was becoming steadily more evident every day... it was so hard to pretend that things weren't different; so hard to believe that they were the saviors of the world when they couldn't even save one woman from herself.  
  
Kurt was the brightest point of Ororo's day now -- indeed, nearly everyone's days. To all outward appearances, he seemed to have warmed up to Xavier's School in way that took most new arrivals _months_. He played with the younger children, put on performances for the older teens, and was well-liked by everyone. He was an actor, all right; his performer's nature loved living in a school and having a (literally) captive audience.  
  
She wasn't sure how he was doing underneath the facade, though. Children were one thing -- he didn't hesitate around them. But he still hadn't asserted himself to any of the adults. He avoided them, in fact; whenever they did end up speaking, he would always defer to them and get away as soon as possible. She didn't blame him... it was much easier to win the hearts of children than the minds of adults.  
  
Storm found herself outside the door of the Professor's office -- maybe she'd come here intentionally on some subconscious level. Stepping forward, she gave a light knock and barely waited for the Professor's usual greeting before opening the door.  
  
He looked up from the book he was reading and smiled at her. She gave him a brief, troubled smile in return and turned to shut the door.  
  
Something's bothering you, Ororo? the Professor asked mildly, putting a marker in his book and setting it on the desk.  
  
She sighed and leaned against the doorframe. Yes, I suppose. She fell silent, biting her lip slightly.  
  
I could read your mind, but I'd prefer it if you told me yourself, the Professor joked gently. Storm smiled more honestly at that.  
  
Sir, I've been giving a lot of thought to Kurt and that image inducer you proposed to him, she said finally. I think he has gotten to a certain level of... ignoring reality, now. He won't even speak to _me_ for long periods of time -- he just stays with the children. Maybe with the image inducer he could answer a few questions he still has about himself. She shrugged and sighed, looking out the window at the clouds. I only want him to feel at home here.  
  
At home in his own skin, you mean? the Professor said, and she nodded. To tell you the truth, Storm, I've had the device completed for three days now. I'm waiting for Kurt to ask for it himself... if _I_ give it to him, there will always be the feeling that I pushed it on him. If he comes for it, he must take full responsibility for his own choices -- and those choices are what he needs to make now, to decide whether or not he can live with himself.  
  
Storm couldn't think of a response to that. She toyed with the thought of telling Kurt that the image inducer was ready, but she dismissed it almost as soon as it came up -- the Professor was right.  
  
Kurt needed to make his own choice now.  
  
--------


End file.
